


It got who?

by aussiebornwriter



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Bev&Rich are friends, M/M, Patrick gets taken later on, Richie Gets Taken Instead of Bev, richie has adhd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-15 21:55:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13040232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aussiebornwriter/pseuds/aussiebornwriter
Summary: Richie's plans for the afternoon - go to the arcade, eat ice cream, pick up his ritalin.They weren't - meet up with Bev, get fucking kidnapped, almost die.Or:After being punched by Bill and rejected by almost all the Losers and almost dying in a fucking crackhead house, Richie thought his summer couldn't get any worse. Boy was he wrong.Or:A story in which Richie gets taken by It instead of Bev.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Soo, if you miss small details in the movie, Patrick Hockstetter goes missing around the time the Losers go to Ben's house. In my story, he sticks around and ends up fucking shit up for Richie.
> 
> Can I just say, I love Richie so much, but I love it when my favourite characters get the worst management. So here. 
> 
> i don't know whether to say yay or bleugh. like, what's wrong with me idek

Eddie Kaspbrak was under house arrest. 

No friends, no arcade. 

No creepy-ass clown.

So, all in all, pros and cons seemed to level out.  
Having been chosen with Richie and Bill to venture into the house, Eddie had immediately felt apprehensive of what was to come. Not that he had known, but there certainly been a foreshadowing feeling of failure.

He hadn’t assumed failure would be equivalent to a broken arm, but he did tell himself I told you so to make himself feel better. Or worse, though he didn’t know which one he preferred.

His mum let him out of the house to pick up his prescription medication every now and then, when Eddie started getting cabin fever.  
Not the best way to spend the summer, but certainly not the worst.

Of course, Eddie wasn’t speaking to anyone, so he was thrown out of the loop a bit with the rest of the Losers. Perhaps that’s part of the problem.

What problem? Oh, Eddie couldn’t tell you. Something stirred in his gut, his internal radar wailing louder than a siren. Something was about to happen.  
But Eddie didn’t know what.

It could have just been the medication. He had never had to rely on his instincts before. Growing up in Derry, the worst thing that happened to him so far was Henry Bower’s gang.  
Except for It, of course.

Eddie sat alone in his house, picking up his medication every now and again. Completely ignoring the gruesome truths occurring right underneath his feet. Or, perhaps, simply ignorant. Like everyone else in the god-forsaken town.

***

Richie was with Bev. Why? Eh. She was there, Richie was alone (and he needed someone to mooch quarters off of), and two heads were better than one. The more the merrier, and other stupid cliché sayings that don’t mean anything.

The heat rolled off of the two, making them tired and antsy to get to the frickin’ place. Sweat beaded down Richie’s neck. Of course his hair had to be so dark and thick. The arcade loomed ahead, taunting them to come closer.

They walked into the arcade, the cool breeze of the building spreading relief through Richie’s body, making him shiver at the abrupt change. It felt like a victory in some sense.  
He bee-lined to Street Fighter, digging around in his pocket for a - goddam it was there somewhere – copper coin. 

Richie slid the coin in the slot as if his life depended on it, immediately lost in the hypnotic glow of the small screen. He cracked his knuckles, ready to kick some ass when- 

“Hey, do you have a quarter?”

He froze, eyes widening comically behind his glasses in disbelief, hand hovering over the START button.

 

“Excuse me, Strawberry Shortcake?”

His head whipped to look at Bev, who was staring at Richie, emotion crossed between amused and affronted fluttered on her face. To think his walking piggy bank was asking him want he wanted from her? That- that- ginger Judas!

“We’re in an arcade, can I have a quarter? I only have five bucks,” Bev explained, holding out the note as if she needed to prove her point. Richie breathed a sigh of relief, causing Bev to raise an eyebrow.

“Just- go cash it in over there,” he pointed to a bored, acne-plagued teen who probably went to their school. But who knew. Richie couldn’t be bothered remembering stupid shit like that.

Bev shrugged, hands in her pockets as she stalked over to pepperoni face, casually looking at the different types of games here and there. The teenager stared at her, his face star struck, probably about the fact that a girl was in the arcade, and heading in his direction.

Richie muttered under his breath, something along the lines of penny pinching punk, as his hand slammed on the START button, immediately pummelling his palm on the red button, imagining the buff, pixelated man was a cross between Bev, Bill, the clown and a five dollar bill.

When Richie’s character was about to make a bomb ass deadly move, a hand smashed on the boxy screen. Richie jumped, a small yelp maybe escaping his startled lips. His game-mode reverie broken and he turned to glare at whoever ruined his game, only to stare at the last person Richie expected. Bill maybe, or Stan, hopefully Eddie. Not-

Patrick Hockstetter. He smirked down at Richie, licking his lower lip. An evil glint shined in his eyes that made him seem on the verge of something inhuman. Richie shivered under the older boy’s intimidating gaze.

“Tozier. How’s it hangin’?” He smirked, his voice low, a definite undertone of something else laced in his words.

Richie adjusted his glasses, looking back at the screen to see his character defeated, the bright block lettering of GAME OVER taunting him. Fucking bully, he thought gloomily.  
Bev strolled up, looking a little confused at the unexpected pair. Richie supposed they looked odd; an older teen smirking at a thirteen year old, who was on the verge of running away.

(Come on Bev, tell him to piss off. You’re here with me to hang out, come on, I’ll let you take one of my quarters, just tell him to-)

“You don’t mind if I steal him just now, do you? I have a question to ask about school, and a, uh, apology,” Patrick said, raking his eyes over Richie before locking his stare with Bev. 

“Uh, I guess?” Bev said, eyeing him suspiciously. The guy gave her a weird feeling, but Bev may be over-analysing the situation.

“Great, I’ll have him back in a minute,” he drawled, reaching for Richie and practically pulling him out of the arcade, around the back. It was hot as fuck, and Richie really hoped Patrick would this, whatever it was, over with so he could go back and end the fucker-

Richie slammed against the brick wall, his head snapping back and creating a thud, temporarily blacking out. 

He was pinned against the wall, a handkerchief against his mouth and nose, a hand wrapped around his throat. Richie pawed against the arm, trying desperately to kick something, though it was hard with Patrick’s legs pinning Richie against the wall. 

Tear’s welled up in Richie’s eyes as he struggled to breathe and- what the fuck was wrong with the cloth? It smelled like…

Richie’s eyes widened for the second time that day, though this time in realisation. Patrick was drugging him?

The effects where definitely kicking in, his vision swimming and eyes becoming heavier. Patrick smirked, akin to something like the Joker. Richie vaguely wondered if Patrick somehow got inspiration from him, though then Richie would have to be Batman, and he seriously wan't cool enough to be-

“Oh, I’m going to have my fun with you,” he murmured.

It was the last thing Richie heard before his eyes rolled back and his head lolled forward, almost collapsing against Patrick. Said boy hauled him to a car, straight in the backseat before driving off, despite being too young to drive.

The handkerchief stayed on the ground.

***

Bev was on her third round of Pac-Man when she realised the console next to her was unoccupied, a wave of remembrance hitting her stronger than a tsunami. Where the fuck was Richie? It must have been at least ten minutes.

Scanning the arcade, green globes saw nothing. She stalked outside, wandering out the back. Zip. Nada. Nothing. Zilch. No Richie.

Bev grumbled under her breath. Richie Tozier left! Fucking, Ditch-ie Tozier more like. Making her spend unnecessary time in the heat and wasting her money! What a piece of trash.

She wandered off down the street, over to the library. Maybe she could hang out with Ben. He was sweet and honest, and wouldn’t ditch her. 

***

When Richie awoke, he was on a bed. Which would’ve been fine, if he hadn’t had his glasses on, which he did. And if there was one thing Richie could do, it was taking off his glasses before he slept, because he could not afford a new pair. 

The second thing he noticed, was that he was most certainly not in his room, or Stan’s, or Bill’s. Because neither Stan nor Bill had a… revealing poster of a cartoon ladie’s… yeah. For all the jokes he made, seeing that very large bosoms made him quite uncomfortable. 

Richie scrambled off the bed as he remembered the creepy turn of events that occurred outside the arcade. Seeing a door in the pigsty of a room, he jumped over the obstacle course of dirty laundry and stuff that Richie would rather not go into. Yanking open the door, he saw Patrick washing his hands.

Wrong door, is all Richie could think before Patrick grinned at him, grabbing an iron-tight hold on Richie’s small wrist. Tugging him into the small bathroom, Patrick slammed and locked the door, before standing in front of it, ensuring Richie couldn’t escape.

Richie made a constrictive noise, somewhat between a growl and whimper. 

“What do you want from me,” he whispered, sounding more scared than he cared to admit. An animalistic smile twisted onto Patrick’s face, akin to a hunter, ready to go for the kill. The thought sent shivers down his spine. Out of fear, obviously.

“It’s simple, really. You’re so fucking cute. It’s so hard to just,” Patrick cut himself off, before changing the end of the sentence. “I won’t bite. Okay. That was I lie. I definitely will,” and as he finished his sentence, Patrick licked his lips before going in for the kill. By the kill, I mean grabbing Richie’s face and kissing him, hard, fast and rough.

Richie didn’t reciprocate. He didn’t want to. He felt dirty, disgusted and he wanted to cry, to push him away, fuck!

Patrick pulled back and said, “Tozier, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way. I recommend the easy way, ‘cause I would hate to mar that precious body of yours.”

Richie gulped. Okay, what the fuck was wrong with this dude? Before Richie could object, his lips were back and Richie struggled against it. He tried to turn his head, but the guy held his face with his hands. He was leaning his body against Richie’s, so Richie was sandwiched between Patrick’s body and the bathroom sink.

He gripped the bench behind him, and unwillingly reciprocated Patrick’s ambitious mouth, wanting it to be over. He squeezed his eyes closed, waiting for the battle to end, for Patrick to tire. There were many things Richie was not proud of, but this would definitely top the list.

It was wet, heavy and frankly, disgusting. Richie would rather have Bill punch him in the face repeatedly than this. But submission seemed to be the only option at this point. Easy way or hard, it was apparent Patrick was going to rape him. He’d rather not have a knife brand him for life too.

A tongue found its way in Richie’s mouth, and it was all he could do to not gag. Seriously, what was this dude’s problem? Why him? Could a pedophile also be a child? 

Richie’s ADHD brain was running a mile a minute, random thoughts popping into his head that made him question life itself. And Patrick was indeed enjoying himself after he had gotten Richie to cooperate. So it made sense that neither of them noticed a looming figure somehow appeared in the doorway, despite the door having been locked. Neither of them noticed a white, gloved hand hover for a while. 

Richie kept his eyes shut and mouth moving to appease the older lad. He hadn’t noticed the hand, or the figure in general, so when Patrick pulled away abruptly, making choking sounds, Richie snapped his eyes open.

And immediately wished he hadn't.

Pennywise stood in the doorway, a hand enclosed around Patrick’s neck. Richie could only watch in horror as It’s head snapped towards Richie so precisely and sharply, it was quite disgusting. He whimpered, fear rolling through his body, more prominent, more strong than at the crackhead house.

A white hand extended towards him, for him, unwavering. This is it folks, this is the day Richie Tozier is killed by a clown. 

Long, thick yet somehow elegant fingers wrapped around his neck, and that was the last thing Richie remembered.

***


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i based this off of the 'bev gets taken' scene and my imagination. i don't own the first, only the latter <\--

***

Eddie Kaspbrak was allowed to pick up his medication today.

And thank fuck for that.

The drugstore wasn’t a too far of a walk, even less of a bike ride, but Eddie took his time, gliding along the empty roads. The wind created by the movement of the bike was warm and ruffled his usually pristine hair. 

Mr Keene was standing behind the counter when Eddie arrived, as if he had been expecting him. Which, Eddie supposed he had, considering he picked up his medication at the same time when he needed a refill.

“Ah, mister Kaspbrak. As luck would have it, your prescription is ready for the taking.”

Wow, this guy must have been bored. Eddie nodded and smiled in thanks, taking the bottle from the older man.

“Oh, Eddie, have you seen Richie Tozier around? He was supposed to come by a couple of days ago to pick up his Ritalin, and I haven’t seen Maggie or Went for a while. Oh, speak of the devil!” 

Eddie turned, and Richie’s father was there, looking a cross between angry and anxious. Eddie took this as his que to leave, still feeling a small amount of resentment for his glasses equipped friend. His arm felt heavy in his cast, a painful reminder of what happened the last time he saw Richie.

Walking over to his bike, Eddie noticed a storm drain. Anger coursed through Eddie’s veins. It was that thing’s fault, all of this.

Glaring at the empty, dark the drain, Eddie cycled towards his house. So much pent up anger towards the clown made his gaze turn to tunnel vision, not seeing the freshly printed MISSING posters for two new kids.

“Eddie!”

Eddie turned and saw Stan and Bill on their bikes, coming from the general direction of town. Eddie slowed into a halt, letting the other boys ride up to him. 

“Hey guys, what’s up?” 

Eddie’s question made both boys shrug in response. Apparently, not much was up for discussion after the… expedition on Neibolt street. It felt odd; there had always been four of them, and it felt quiet without their trash-mouth. 

The tension simmered for a while, neither boy saying anything. Stan picked at his nails.

(that is really gross, man. Unsanitary. Infection is almost guaranteed if you don’t stop just stop touching your hands-)

“I better h-head home, my m-mum’s waiting f-for me,” Bill mumbled. Stan nodded and Eddie muttered a farewell to the boys, each heading in their own direction – Bill and Eddie to their respective houses, Stan to town.

***

Stan wasn’t expecting to meet any of the other losers. He swears it on his father’s Torah. He ran into Bill on his way to town as Bill was heading home, and they rode together for a while. Then they ran into Eddie, who was coming from town, before parting ways.

Now, at the ice cream parlor, fucking Beverly Marsh walks in as he waits for his cone.

Small fucking world, huh?

Bev smiles and waves in greeting, ordering a classic vanilla. Same as Stan.

The two decided to walk around town with each other, not having had any alone time together.

Stan couldn’t decide if that was sad, or if they just hadn’t known each other for long enough to determine whether she was ‘alone hang out time’ worthy.  
Stan decided on the latter.

Walking down the street, idly talking about whatever, Stan noticed a woman with a small stack of papers, stapling white sheets to a telephone pole.  
He nudged Bev, who looked confused for a split second, before realisation dawned over her features, a sad look painting her face.

“Another kid,” she murmured.

They threw out the remainders of their ice cream before stalking over to see who was gone.

Stan hoped it was Greta Keene, or Bowers.

He scolded himself for thinking such thoughts, 

(so rude Stan, they could be dead and-)

“Fuck, no! No, this is fake, please, shit!”

Stan looked up from his daze, seeing Bev already at the pole, which was a few feet away.

Bev definitely looked terrified, a hand gripping her red locks, tight and hard enough to cause a sting. Stan ran over, wondering who on earth could make Bev react like-

Oh. 

Oh fuck.

No.

No, no, no, no!

On the telephone pole were two new posters.

One with the smiling face of Patrick Hockstetter.

One with the smiling face of Richie Tozier.

Stan remembered waiting outside the crackhead house on Neibolt street, how the house was silent for a few minutes, before having head a muffled-  
(‘That’s, my hair, that’s my face, that’s my name, that’s my age, that’s the date, no IT SAYS, IT SAYS IT, WHY THE FUCK AM I MISSING, WHY AM I MISSING-?!’)

“Shit,” was all Stan could say.

“We need to call the others, Richie must have been gone at least a few days,” Bev whispered. 

“What if he’s, you know-“

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Stan. These are obviously new, and if there’s a chance, there’s a chance, right? We need to call Bill.”

“I was just with Bill, he’d be at his house.”

Bev nodded. She ripped the poster off of the pole and together, they ran back to the parlour where they had left their bikes, and cycled to the Denbrough estate.

Stan had never cycled harder in his life.

***

“Bill! Open up!”

Bev pounded on the door, the paper crinkling in her fist. Stan cringed, then chastised himself.

(Now is not the time to get upset over crinkled paper.)

Bill opened the door, frantic.

“What? What’s w-wrong?”

Stan couldn’t talk, only stare as reality finally sunk in.

“It’s Richie,” Bev began, only to be cut off.

“What? He wants y-you to ap-ologise f-for me? Well, the bastard came co-“

“What? No, look!”

Bev shoved the paper into his hands, and Bill read the paper. His brow crinkled in fear.

“A-are you s-sure this i-is-“

Stan cut him off.

“We watched it go up.”

Bill’s jaw set in determination, though definite guilt could be seen in his eyes.

“I’ll call the others.”

***

It was cold. It was wet, and dark. 

Richie stirred quietly, consciousness flowing through his foggy mind and limbs.

A deep groan beside him made Richie’s eyes snap open, memories flooding through his brain.

“Shit,” was all Richie could muster before scrambling up, water spraying everywhere.

“Oi, dickhead, where are we?” 

Richie started as Patrick sat up, blinking blearily, before realising where they were. His eyes widened comically at Richie, mouth opening and closing a couple times before he managed to speak.

“Are we in the sewers, because a clown kidnapped us?”

Richie almost rolled his eyes, exasperation at Patrick’s slowness frustrating him.

“Yeah, and we need to get the fuck out of here. Who knows how long we’ve been down here,” Richie whispered.

Patrick stood up quickly, albeit he wobbled a bit after being unconscious for so long.

“Now, I can see a manhole over there, if we can open it-“

“Beep beep, Richie.”

Richie and Patrick froze. Both turning around slowly, the looming figure of Pennywise stood a few metres away, grinning manically at them.

“Fuck.”

Patrick stood frozen, and Richie could see the terror radiating from him. Richie scrambled up, twisting and prying the heavy door, but it wouldn’t budge. He heaved and pulled, to no avail.

Patrick reached up to grab Richie, whimpering.

“Who is that?”

Pennywise’s giggle could be heard from across the room, echoes ricocheting through the tunnels surrounding them. He began stalking towards them, slowly as if he had all the time in the world.

Richie’s attempts to escape became more haphazard, but funnily enough, he wasn’t afraid of the clown. He wasn’t sure why, but the only thing Richie wanted was out.  
Patrick was screaming, screaming really loudly

(dude shut the fuck up and help me come on man)

And suddenly, It was right next to Patrick. It looked almost excited, being so close to them.

It took a long sniff, and cackled.

“Fear, delicious fear.”

Patrick whimpered, and Richie watched in horror as It reached out for Patrick, grabbing him by the neck and yanking him closer.

“Hey, let him go!” 

Richie let go of the manhole cover in favour of picking up a rock and aiming, ready to throw at Pennywise.

The fucking clown merely laughed. He shoved Patrick to the ground, picking Richie up and sniffed. Richie struggled against him, kicking and grabbing at Pennywise, trying to peel him off. 

It merely grumbled.

“Not yet scared. Hmm, we’ll change that, won’t we? Then, oh yes, you’ll float. We all float here,” before moving, grabbing a rope from a 

(big ass mother fucking pill of shit)

and tying Richie, ensuring he could, by no means, escape.

Okay, something is fucking wrong this this dude.

Out of the corner of Richie’s eye, he noticed Patrick made a break for it, scrambling through the mess of discarded toys and sewage junk. Pennywise noticed and cackled, his good mood suddenly coming back. He leapt towards Patrick, in an inhuman way, grabbing onto him, tackling Patrick until they were within Richie’s eye range.  
Front row special.

Richie watched in horror as Patrick wailed, closing his eyes, feebly trying to break free of It’s tight grip. 

Richie stared as It’s eyes rolled back into his head, and his jaw unhinged, revealing more teeth than Richie had ever seen in his life.

Richie ogled as the teeth latched onto Patrick’s neck, ripping a chunk of flesh from his body. Patrick screamed as blood shot out from a vein, like a mini fountain of red. It painted Pennywise’s face, dripping and swirling, mixing with the water. 

Richie became light headed and looked away from the gruesome scene, Patrick’s screams fading away as he slowly died. 

When Richie looked again, Patrick was missing an arm, and a huge portion of his stomach was missing, Pennywise still ploughing through his body.  
Patrick was long gone.

Blood pooled everywhere, lapping at Richie’s toes and butt where he sat. The sight had Richie in hysterics, screaming at Pennywise to let him go, stop, choke on a spoon and die in a hole.

It merely laughed Richie’s pointless screaming. 

Richie passed out, then and there, slumping sideways, the rest of his body becoming coated in blood, shit and water. Remnants of flesh and organs sloshed through the mess.

***

When Richie came to, there was no Patrick lying on the ground. Well, some of Patrick. Otherwise he was alone in the dark room. No killer clown.

He sat up, grunting and wincing, wiggling his hands to find the-

Ha!

Richie untied the knot, the rope pooling around his ankles. He stood up quickly and turned, running to the nearest tunnel. He looked up, noticing light, and choked back a scream.  
There were fucking kids, floating above him. The missing kids. The pile of shit was ginormous, stretching maybe a mile high.

(But don’t take his word for it, he was shit at approximating-)

A tinny voice rang through the air. Richie tried to locate where it was coming from.

“Introducing, Pennywise, the dancing clown!”

A cackle was projected, along with the traditional Jack-in-the-Box music. Or was it Pop-goes-the-Weasel?

(God Richie, is that fucking important right now?)

He spun on his heel, seeing what could be best described as a makeshift circus stage lit up with flames and smoke, Pennywise dancing ridiculously to an equally ridiculous tune, kicking his legs high in the air. 

He watched, half in confusion, half fascination, for a few seconds, before making a break for it, towards the nearest tunnel.

Pennywise, noticing, jumped from the stage immediately, lading beside him. Richie halted to avoid crashing into a white costume, most definitely stained with blood.

He looked up, the white face of the clown looking down at him, one eye looking somewhere else. That definitely gave him the creeps. 

Pennywise’s arm seemed to have materialized out of nowhere, Richie swears to God.

Richie was lifted off of the ground by his throat, and he kicked and struggled, punching the hands that clung to his neck. It mocked Richie, making faux sounds of fear and pain, reciprocating Richie.

“I’m not afraid of you,” Richie choked out.

This did not make Pennywise happy.

He frowned, stopping the mocking sounds.

He pulled Richie towards him, taking a sniff, before growling angrily. He glared up at Richie, holding him back at arm’s lengeth.

“You will be,” It glowered, eyes cold and hard, voice deep and gravelly. 

Richie glared defiantly at the fucker, almost challenging him.

Richie could only watched in disgusted fascination as It’s eyes rolled back into his head, his jaw unhinging. More rows of teeth appeared, and Richie recoiled in disgust. A trio of lights illuminated Richie’s face, swirling at the base of It’s throat.

He didn’t want to look. But he did. His attempts of escape faltered, his eyes clouding up and body becoming limp. He was silenced.

The clown was fucking right.

He would fucking float too. 

It let go of Richie as he floated into the air, looking like a corpse.

***


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can i just say - there is period-typical homophobia in this chapter, though it's internalized by eddie. i ship reddie 100% just a warning

The remaining Losers cycled towards Neibolt Street. It’s lair was down the well – it must be. Pure determination streamed through Bill’s veins.

He felt guilty. The last thing Bill did to Richie before he had stormed off (and disappeared) was punch him in the face.

Yeah, a dick move.

Pulling in, Bill knew he couldn’t go in there empty handed.

“Guys, spikes,” he muttered, though they all heard him clearly.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Eddie tossing his fanny pack into the bushes. Though Bill didn’t comment on it, he definitely thought it was peculiar.  
Was it Eddie standing up for himself? Proving a point?

Whatever it was, he felt a small ounce of pride. Eddie was certainly emotionally attached to his pack, and tossing it away deemed to prove something.

With no hesitation, they all entered the creepy house. Except for Stan, who took a little convincing.

They crept through the house, Bill leading the way to the well.

Stan, Bill and Eddie, who had known Richie the longest, all knew if Richie were here, he would make a stupid joke about the well, which would not help the circumstances in anyway.

That thought alone only made Bill more resolute to find him.

Out of a spare rope coil, Mike made an, in no way safe, but sturdy enough length of cable to shimmy down.

Aside from having to help Eddie with his broken arm, the group carefully made their way down the rope, to a hole in the wall. 

And, of fucking course, Henry Bowers had to show up and nearly kill Mike, though the situation was handled by Mike overpowering him and shoving him down the well.

All in a day’s work.

When the group turned though, with Mike, they noticed Stan was missing.

Panic immediately coursed through the remaining five, Eddie screaming for him. They pushed and shoved each other, following the tunnel to a spacious area. To see Stan getting fucking mauled by some creature with teeth that look like a brain covering his face.

When the woman figure noticed, them she retreated, pulling her jaw off of Stan’s face.

They immediately crowded Stan, who started screaming and crying about how they left him all alone.

“You left me! You’re not my friends, you made me go!”

Eddie apologised repeatedly, gripping onto Stan to assure him he was not alone, profusely assuring him they were there, they loved him.

Bill looked over his shoulder and noticed a small figure in a yellow raincoat.

Georgie.

He stood quickly, leaving the others behind to run after the yellow raincoat.

***

Eddie noticed Bill leave, calling out for him. 

Bev looked up, following Eddie’s gaze in where Bill had left.

The losers stood up, entering the tunnel, splashing through the

(Fucking disgusting gross unsanitary)

Grey water. 

“Bill!”

“Bill!”

Their voices echoed through the silent drains. Their torches glowed as five teens tried to track their friend. They splashed, not paying attention to what was in the water.

“Bill?”

Eddie led the group, not looking at the ground. Maybe that was why he didn’t see the large lumps in the water, causing him to trip. 

“Eddie, get out of there, that’s grey water,” Bev called from behind him somewhere. Though Eddie wasn’t paying attention. 

“Where’s my fucking flashlight?” Eddie crowed, fumbling desperately through the murky water. And wished he wasn’t.

Because when the others shined their torches into the water to help look for it, they saw heads.

Human heads.

Eddie screeched in disgust. They all did. Someone cried, though they weren’t sure who.

***

Bill kept track of the silhouette, only nearly losing it twice. Twisting and turning through the labyrinth that was Derry’s sewerage system, he followed Georgie until he disappeared. Though Bill knew where he had gone, he stalked quietly along the last tunnel, holding his flash light close to his face, until he ended up in a spacious room, a tall pile of junk in the middle and-

Holy shit.

“Richie!”

There was the trash mouth, floating nearly ten feet in the air. The closer Bill got, the more scared for Richie he was.

Richie was staring at the ceiling, arms hanging limp by his sides. The ADHD boy was still as a rock.

Bill couldn’t reach. He jumped up for Richie’s ankle, barely even grazing the untied laces of the boys’ converse.

Even with a running start, Bill couldn’t reach.

He looked for something in the pile of lost toys, anything that could help bring Richie back to the ground.

Then he saw the fucking raincoat again. 

Georgie.

It ran behind the pile, out of eye shot. Bill vetoed bringing Richie down for following Georgie.

***

Mike led the group through the tunnels.

“Richie?”

“Rich. Rich?”

“Richie!”

“Holy shit.”

The losers entered the cove, immediately spotting Richie, floating in the air.

“Rich!”

“Oh shit.”

Stan couldn’t tell you who said what, though they all had the same goal in mind: get Richie down.

“How is he in the air?” Stan questioned, though asking for an answer was pointless.

How the fuck was he in the air?

***

Bill went around the pile, looking for Georgie. And he found him. Behind a drain, his little brother stood. Holding his boat, looking dirty and scared. 

***

“Just help me grab him!”

Mike hoisted Eddie into the air, who gripped onto Richie’s ankles.

“Oh shit.”

With great effort, Eddie tugged Richie down. It was as if he were filled with helium – he didn’t want to come down.

With brute force (and the help of Bev and Ben), Eddie managed to tug him down.

“I’m slipping!”

Ben and Bev tugged, Richie’s feet touching the ground.

Now that they could see him clearly, the group was horrified.

Behind his glasses (which were cracked along the glass, by the way), Richie’s magnified eyes were clouded grey and open. His mouth hung open a little. He looked dead. He was covered in blood – it stained his clothes, his hair, and his face. He had bruises on his neck – it looked like he had been strangled.

Eddie felt his heart drop to his stomach.

***

“Georgie,” Bill said.

Georgie came out, around from behind the drain. He looked sad. 

“What took you so long?” was all he said, his voice thick and low.

Bill could see one of his arms was gone. 

He felt tears on the verge of spilling as he spoke.

“I was looking for you this whole time.”

***

“Rich,” Eddie half-yelled.

He gripped Richie’s cheeks in his palms, only made a small amount difficult by his clunky cast, though Eddie couldn’t care less. Richie wouldn’t wake up.

Mike stared in shock at the state of his friend – he remembered it was Richie who told him ‘Welcome to the losers club!’, Richie who made the crude jokes, who went into the house on Neibolt street, who snapped Eddie’s arm back into place. 

He couldn’t be gone.

The other losers watched sadly, in horror, at the state of Richie, and how panicked Eddie was.

Eddie looked at Ben, Bev and Stan.

“Why isn’t he waking up?” He cried desperately, losing his grip on Richie’s face, causing his head to loll forward, chin against his chest. “What is wrong with him? Richie, please! I can’t-“

Eddie broke off his sentence to hug Richie. He buried his face into Richie’s neck.

Richie’s eyes stayed clouded and glossy, looking blankly over Eddie’s shoulder, making the others shiver at the creepy-ness of it all.

Bev looked around, instantly disturbed as she shone her torch upwards. 

“Guys,” she called. “Are those-?”

Everyone turned to see figures of children, dark and mangled. 

“The missing kids,” Stan croaked. “Floating.”

There were at least a dozen, all floating in disturbing positions.

All definitely dead.

***

Georgie crept forwards.

“I couldn’t find my way out of here. He said I could have my boat back, Billy.”

Bill let out a dry sob.

***

Eddie loosened his hold on Richie, leaning back to grip onto his cheeks again. 

The damn trash mouth! Eddie knew he loved Richie, in ways a guy shouldn’t. It was frowned upon – a disease to be gay. But Eddie couldn’t help it. And he wouldn’t go the rest of his life without kissing Richie!

Eddie’s eyes set in determination. Why would he do this? Love, he supposed. Even if Richie didn’t feel that way about him, it was worth a shot. Rolling his shoulders, Eddie leaned in and kissed Richie square on the lips. He heard his friends’ reactions – 

“Woah!”

“Oh my god!”

“Ew,”

\- But Eddie didn’t care. Okay, maybe a little. The kiss was cold and sterile, and when he pulled back, Richie’s eyes were still foggy. Eddie choked on a sob. This was it. He was gone, Richie Tozier was-

Eddie’s eyes snapped up to Richie as a loud inhale was heard.

Richie’s eyes began to clear, breathing in heavily.

***

Bill wanted to cry. 

He hadn’t seen Georgie in so long. 

“Was she fast?” was all he could muster.

Georgie looked at him with big, tear-filled eyes.

“I couldn’t keep up with it,” he mumbled.

“She, Georgie. You call boats ‘she’.”

***

Richie glanced around, eyes comically wide behind his glasses, but back to their regular shade of brown. 

Stan laughed in relief, and pulled him and Eddie into a hug. Everyone joined in, though Richie stumbled. But not under their weight.

“Guys,” he croaked, looking fearful. He pulled back and turned away, landing on all fours. They all crowded as Richie began dry retching, remembering where he was and what had happened.

“Richie!” Eddie cried, kneeling and rubbing circles on is hack, between his shoulder blades.

After a moment, the heaving subsided, and Richie shuddered, breathing in air. After a couple seconds, he stood up, scanned the group and noticed someone was missing.

“Where’s Bill?” he asked. The others looked around, before hearing his voice, tracking the source. There, they saw Bill and-

“Georgie?” Richie whispered.

Ben, Mike and Bev, who had never seen the kid, all gazed at a small boy with dirty blonde hair, one arm that was clutching a paper boat, who was talking to Bill.

“Mom, a-and dad- I missed you so much,” Bill whimpered, stepping towards Georgie.

Georgie looked up at his brother.

“I love you, Billy,” he said.

“I love you too,” Bill responded.

“Take me home Billy. I wanna go home,” he whined.

Bill was crying now, chest rising and falling unevenly.

“I miss you! I wanna be with mum and dad!”

“I want more than anything for you to be home,” Bill cried. He knew though. This wasn’t real.

He pulled the gun and placed it on Georgie’s forehead, who was now crying earnestly. 

“But you’re not Georgie,” Bill growled.

Georgie’s expression turned from grief to anger. Bill pulled the trigger, and Georgie flew back from the impact.

It emerged from Georgie’s body, and the gang fought the infamous battle.

It was defeated.

***

The Losers gathered at the top of the quarry, sunbathing in the delicious summer heat.

Two days after the battle, Bev had to know why he left her.

Richie laughed when she asked him, though not from humour. It was more ridiculed.

“You think I ditched you?”

The others, not having truly known what had happened, all turned to Richie, intrigued. 

Richie, noticing this, rolled his eyes.

“Would you like me to tell you guys what happened then?” He asked sarcastically.

Richie sat up straight, crossing his legs before playing with his finger nails. Eddie reached over and rubbed Richie’s arm.

“You don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to,” Eddie murmured gently. Richie shook his head.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll tell you. May as well.”

Richie sighed, raking one hand through his hair before starting.

“So, I ran into Bev at the arcade, and we’re just chilln’. When Bev goes to cash in some money in exchange for quarters, Patrick Hockstetter comes up. I agree to go outside with him-“

At this, there are outbursts of:

“What the fuck Richie?”

“You idiot!”

“Why?”

Richie held his hands up in defense.

“He said he wanted to apologise, and he wasn’t with his gang. It’s usually the other three that are bad! So, I go outside, and I swear as soon as we turn the corner, he’s shoving a handkerchief over my mouth and nose. He had coated in some sort of, uh, chloroform.”

This also received a degree of angry outbursts, and Richie, jokingly, yet threateningly, said, “If you bitches keep this up I’ll go home.”

Everyone settled, looking meek. Richie sighed before starting again.

“Yeah, so, he drugged me, and I’m assuming he took me back to his house. He was kind enough to let me sleep on the bed, and I’m guessing I was out for a while, because I’m fairly sure it was night when I came to. So, empty bedroom. But I see a door. 

“Wrong door, as it turns out. It was Patrick’s bathroom. He pulled me in, locked the door. Blocked my means of escape. I can’t exactly remember what he said, but he-“  
Richie cut himself off, taking shuddering breaths. He looked at Eddie, probably afraid of what his reaction would be, before starting again.

“He kissed me. Hard.”

Everyone was taken aback. That was not they expected. Maybe punched him, or strangled him (that would explain the bruises), but not… that.

Richie gulped, a lump forming in his throat.

“I didn’t react at first. He’s bigger than me, and had me pinned against the sink. I couldn’t do anything! He told me something about the easy way or hard way, but I definitely remember if I didn’t cooperate, he was gonna bring a knife into this.”

Richie hugged his knees. He looked at the ground, utterly ashamed of what came out of his mouth next,

“So, I did what I was told. I opened my mouth, let him in. It was disgusting. I don’t know how long that went on for, but suddenly he had pulled away. I was relieved, for, like, a split second. Because in the fucking doorway, was It, a hand wrapped around his neck.”

Richie was close to hyperventilating. He didn’t stop though. Everyone listened in horror at Richie’s awful turn of events.

“He reached for me, and the next thing I knew, I was in the room you found me in. I tried to escape, there was a manhole, which I figured would be better than the tunnels. But the door wouldn’t move.

Then It was there, laughing at us, I remember Patrick was screaming. It somehow bound me, and grabbed Patrick. He-“

Richie couldn’t go on. He started sobbing, and everyone made a move to hug him, but he waved them away, so they reluctantly sat back down. It was a few minutes before Richie was calm enough to continue.

He sniffed, only now feeling the true impact of what happened.

“It just took a huge bite out of Patrick’s neck, almost down to the bone. I couldn’t look away at first. It was disgusting. Patrick was screaming, blood was everywhere. Like, squirting from his body. I looked away for a few minutes, and it had gone really quiet. But Patrick, god.”

Richie gagged as he remembered the mangled body.

“You could barely recognise him. His arm was missing, a huge portion of his stomach too. Mauled.”

Bill stared sadly at his friend. All this, and all he said was, ‘the bastard can come and apologise himself’. It was truly a grotesque image. Bill couldn’t imagine watching someone get eaten alive, and Richie had. 

“I definitely passed out. Not sure how long for, but when I came to I was drenched in that guy’s… ugh.”

Blood.

“And, uh, It was on a stage, and started dancing. I made a break for it, he grabbed me by the neck. But, the weird thing was, I wasn’t afraid. I told him so, and his jaw unhinged. Like, his upper lip was level to his eyes. There were these lights, three of them. And that’s all I remember. Till Eddie kissed me,” he muttered. 

Eddie wrapped his arm around Richie’s shaking shoulders, calming him down. This time, the group wouldn’t take no for an answer. They all gathered around the young couple, wrapping their arms around each other and whispering sweet nothings into the summer air.

***

Below them, in the sewers, It lay, hibernating. Not dead, defeated. Not destroyed, beaten. Not dead.


End file.
